


the air that inhabits

by Lirazel



Category: Infinite (Band), K-POP RPF, K-pop, Korean Pop, Kpop-Fandom
Genre: M/M, trigger warning: stalking, tw: stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirazel/pseuds/Lirazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> That night, the managers go over even stricter protocols for safety, and when Hoya says, “It </i>would<i> be Sungyeol with the weird-ass fans,” it takes both Dongwoo and Woohyun to hold Myungsoo back.</i> </p><p>Sungyeol is targeted by sasaeng fans; Myungsoo tries to deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the air that inhabits

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: stalking
> 
> Title from [this poem](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/variation-on-the-word-sleep/) by Margaret Atwood

\--

 _“Tell me what terrifies you. Tell me who is most necessary for your survival." –_ The Tutor _, Eireann Corrigan_

\--

Myungsoo doesn’t even know until after the fact, the first time. To be fair, things get a little crazy for a few minutes: on the way into the airport and the cordon breaks and then are fans crushing in around them, overwhelming noise and smells—shrieks, sweat, squeals, perfume, some crying, someone’s kimchi from lunch—of too many people pressing too close together. Geonam-hyung’s arm shoots out protectively in front of Myungsoo, trying to keep people at bay, but there are so many _hands_ ( _Myungsoo focuses on the hands because it’s easier than the faces_ ). Most of them are just trying to pat him on the back or give him some present or another ( _he wishes he could convince them to take that money they spend on him and give it to charity, but they don’t listen when he asks, so he’s quit asking_ ), but he feels at least one hand grab his ass in a way that can’t possibly be accidental. He grits his teeth, glad of his sunglasses, clutching his bag close to him; it’s got his camera inside, and he’d rather shatter one of his bones than have anything happen to it. He ducks his head, lets Geonam usher him along, keeping his eyes on the back of Hoya’s neck, ignoring the video cameras and cell phones being held up to his face. Security is pretty good, though, so they manage to get the crowd back fairly quickly, but Myungsoo doesn’t let himself relax yet.

When they finally get beyond the barriers that keep out anyone who doesn’t have a ticket and he can breathe again, he slows his steps to let Sungyeol catch up with him. Woohyun, who had had a grin plastered on his face even when the crowd crushed in close, lets that expression collapse like the scaffolding holding it up has been yanked away; sometimes Woohyun looks so _tired_ after greasing his way through an interview or fan encounter, and Myungsoo feels guilty and grateful at the same time for L. He meets Woohyun’s eyes, and it feels like a moment of rest, seeing all his own feelings in someone else’s eyes. 

Sungyeol falls into step beside him a moment later, and it’s the fact that he’s breathing a little faster than usual that makes Myungsoo glance over at him ( _they’ve been living so long in each others’ pockets, the seven of them, that Myungsoo knows the patterns of the others’ breaths, the rhythm of their footsteps, the shape of their shadows against the floor_ ); otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have bothered for a while ( _he knows Sungyeol so well that he doesn’t have to look at him most of the time when they’re talking; he already knows which expressions he’ll make at which moments. Not that he doesn’t like to look at Sungyeol, because he does: his faces shows his expressions so clearly and his smile is...well, Myungsoo doesn’t have the words for it. It’s just that sometimes looking at him makes him feel more emotions than he really knows how to deal with_ ). The moment he does, he halts. 

“What happened?”

His question comes out sharper than he meant it to, but that red marring Sungyeol’s left cheekbone is a vivid enough hue to be worrisome, and Sungyeol is blinking his eyes furiously like he’s trying to hold back tears.

“Nothing—“ Sungyeol starts, but Myungsoo’s disbelief must show because he switches tracks. His smile’s a little shaky, but they’re all already exhausted, so that could be the reason. “Someone hit me—I didn’t really see—I’m sure it was an accident—it’s not bad.” 

He winces a little as he lifts his fingers to his cheek, and Myungsoo feels tension building in his shoulders, but Sungyeol doesn’t look like he’s going to cry after all, and that crowd was a little intense. 

“If my cheek swells up, do you think people will start recognizing me again, at least from this side?” And then he smiles that wide, wide smile.

So Myungsoo lets it go. It’s not like things like that haven’t happened before; Dongwoo twisted his ankle once right after their debut, tripping over someone’s feet when a crowd got out of control, and Sungjong once got an elbow in his ribs that left a bruise when people were jostled too close to him. That’s what happens in crowds, especially crowds where the point is to get as close to certain people as possible, and it’s never been anything to worry about.

So Myungsoo doesn’t worry about it, because he’s so tired and the flight gets delayed and he ends up sitting next to Sunggyu on the plane and there are crowds to rush by in the other airport as well and it isn’t until they climb in the van taking them to the hotel that he notices that there’s a bruise blossoming against Sungyeol’s fair skin.

“I thought you said it wasn’t bad,” Myungsoo accuses as they take their seats. 

Sungyeol shrugs. “Nothing a little bb cream won’t hide.”

Myungsoo narrows his eyes at him. “You’re putting ice on it as soon as we get to the hotel.”

“Yes, umma,” Sungyeol says, rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling a little; Myungsoo knows he’s always liked to be fussed over.

Even with the ice, there’s still a watercolor sprawl of blues and purples sweeping across his cheekbone the next day. Sunggyu frets over what it will do to their image and Dongwoo fusses with his maternal concern and Hoya says it makes him look way more badass, but Sungyeol insists it isn’t anything, and the makeup-noonas at the salon do amazing work, so nobody who doesn’t know even notices. It cycles through various colors over the next few days, and Myungsoo makes note of each new shade when Sungyeol finally washes the makeup off before bed. It lasted pretty long for just an accident. But eventually it fades to pale yellows and greens and finally it disappears all together, and Myungsoo forgets all about it.

 

 

The second time, Myungsoo sees it happen. It’s the airport again, this time coming back home to Seoul rather than leaving, and security is serious about the cordons this time. But they’re just back from a particularly good performance in Tokyo, and Sungyeol has been giddy-happy the way he sometimes gets where he bounces around, all long limbs and big gummy smiles, and Myungsoo can’t help but smile himself as he watches Sungyeol make his way over to the waiting fans and sign a few autographs. Sungyeol always tries to find the youngest faces in the crowd, to give attention to the girls with Hello Kitty backpacks and the few boys with handmade signs. “We’re role-models, don’t you know?” Sungyeol had said cheekily once when Myungsoo had questioned him, and Myungsoo had laughed because he knows Sungyeol was half serious. Sungyeol has a tendency not to listen to his mother, but apparently he was paying attention when she told him how important it was that he treat the younger fans kindly.

Today, Myungsoo has slowed his steps so that he can watch Sungyeol without appearing to watch him—again, he’s grateful for the sunglasses—so he’s looking right at Sungyeol when it happens. Sungyeol has bent down a little to hear the girl he’s talking to better; she looks about thirteen or so, hair in pigtails and still in her school uniform. He’s signing a little notebook, smiling his Sungyeol smile when the rock flies out of nowhere. 

It connects right with Sungyeol’s forehead and Sungyeol staggers; Myungsoo sees a flash of red above the shock in Sungyeol’s eyes, and that was _not an accident_. He doesn’t even realize that he was about to leap forward until he feels arms banding around him and hauling him back. He struggles, eyes glued on Sungyeol’s face as the older boy rights himself, lifting a shaking hand ( _Myungsoo is too far away to see the shaking, but he_ knows) to the blood dripping from above his eyebrow. 

“Myungsoo! Myungsoo! Calm down!” It’s Dongwoo’s voice in Myungsoo’s ear, Dongwoo’s arms holding him tight. 

“Someone _threw_ that, hyung, they meant to hit him, he’s _bleeding_ —“

His own voice sounds strange to him, harsh and desperate, but Dongwoo’s is soothing. 

“I know, I know. But what are you going to do about it? Don’t make fists, Myungsoo, the fans will see—Myungsoo, relax!” That last was a bit more strident, firmer than Dongwoo’s voice almost ever is, and suddenly Myungsoo understands. He wasn’t even aware himself that his first instinct had been to fly over there and find whoever threw that rock and beat them to a bloody pulp, but it had been, and Dongwoo had stopped him. He still wants to scream obscenities at whoever wanted to hurt Sungyeol, but he knows why Dongwoo stopped him: no matter what the fans do, no matter what they say, an idol can’t strike back. Not ever. That’s what being an idol _is_ , Sunggyu had said once, his mouth twisting up with the words ( _and Myungsoo had known, they all had known, that no one hated that more than Sunggyu_ ): you exist for the fans.

The adrenaline is slowly dying down, leaving Myungsoo a little shaky, and Dongwoo’s arms stay warm around him. “Look, Myungsoo, look.” Nobody on earth, short of his mom, can soothe him the way Dongwoo can. “He’s going to be okay, Jungryoul-hyung has him, look, you can see security trying to find out who did it.”

“Blood,” is the only word Myungsoo can quite manage this time, but even that Dongwoo has a way of smoothing over.

“Head wounds always bleed the most, you know that. But it probably wasn’t a big cut, and he didn’t even fall down, Myungsoo, he stayed upright, he’s going to be fine. We’ll get him to a doctor and they’ll stitch him up and he’ll be fine. He’ll be _fine_.”

Myungsoo knows that now, but his racing heart and his sweating hands don’t seem to believe it. Dongwoo’s arms loosen and he removes one, just looping the other over Myungsoo’s shoulder for comfort. Myungsoo leans into him, not quite sure that he’s going to stay upright himself.  
Then Sungyeol glances over his shoulder, and his eyes, still wide and confused and dazed, meet Myungsoo’s for just a moment and then Jungryoul-hyung is steering him away from the crowds and out the door and to the van. 

Myungsoo follows a few minutes later, Dongwoo’s arm still heavy on his shoulders, walking right past the chaos that Sungyeol left behind: the police trying to calm the crowds, asking questions and jotting down notes, the fangirls who are crying—including, Myungsoo notes distantly, the schoolgirl who was getting Sungyeol’s autograph—the cameras that are flashing. This is going to be all over the news tonight, all over the internet, they’ll be asked about it interviews forever, but Myungsoo just doesn’t _care_. 

Dongwoo guides him to the van, lends him a steady hand to help him climb inside. And then Sungyeol is right there, a red-stained cloth held against his forehead, still looking dazed. Sunggyu had been sitting beside him, but Myungsoo nudges—well, shoves—him away, for once completely unconcerned about age roles and respect for his leader-hyung. Fortunately, Sunggyu seems to understand because he slides down, letting Myungsoo squeeze in beside Sungyeol; Myungsoo doesn’t even really notice.

He’s too busy staring at Sungyeol, at those elegant, familiar fingers that are tipped red, holding that cloth—it’s one of Hoya’s bandanas, Myungsoo thinks, a ridiculous pattern—to his forehead, at the way his hair looks damp and how Myungsoo can’t tell whether it’s from sweat or blood. He tries to think of something to say— _are you okay does it hurt too badly why would someone do this to you did you see who it was can i hunt them down and kill them are you okay are you okay are you okay?_ —but Sungyeol’s face is so white and so the only thing that manages to come out in a quiet, fierce, “What the _fuck_?”

Sungyeol grins then, sudden and bright as always—emotions move so _quickly_ over his face, something that’s always fascinated Myungsoo—then winces immediately afterwards. He’s still chucking, though, when he admonishes, “Idols don’t curse, Kim Myungsoo.”

Myungsoo manages to roll his eyes because he knows that’s what’s expected of him, but he can’t drag his eyes away from the dark bleeding through the green of the cloth. He wants to take it from Sungyeol, brush the other’s hands aside, hold it to the bleeding place himself, but he can’t do that. Their relationship isn’t like that. He could do it for Sungjong or Dongwoo, but he’s not touchy with Sungyeol away from the cameras and never has been. They smack each other, kick at each other, shove each other, sometimes wrestle each other into headlocks: guy things, the typical roughhousing. But Sungyeol has always gone a little stiff whenever Myungsoo tries to touch him ( _cling to him, cuddle up to him_ ) the way he does with some of the other members, and Myungsoo _feels_ that stiffness all the way to his bones, so he stopped trying a long time ago. For the cameras it’s one thing, and Sungyeol goes with it because that’s part of the job. But when the fans aren’t watching....

Their relationship isn’t like that, so Myungsoo knots his hands up in his lap and pulls his gaze forward, staring through the gap between the front two seats and through the glass of the windshield. 

Sunggyu puts his arm across the back of the seat, the warmth of it heavy across Myungsoo’s shoulders, and rests his hand on Sungyeol’s shoulder. “We’ll get it looked at right away,” he assures, but the words aren’t nearly as comforting to Myungsoo as they should be.

Dongwoo is leaning over the back of the seat trying to get a good look, and Myungsoo can see in the rearview that his eyes are concerned in a way that only Dongwoo’s eyes ever are ( _Dongwoo has the biggest heart in the world_ ). Myungsoo doesn’t need to be able to see the back seat to know that Sungjong and Hoya are both scowling with fury at the idea of someone hurting one of their own—as unexpected as it is, they’re so alike sometimes. 

Woohyun slides into the front passenger seat a second later and lets out a terse, “Go.” As Hyoan-hyung steps on the gas, Woohyun cranes around to face the other members, and Myungsoo, managing to really focus on something besides that bloody cloth for the first time, notes that his face is exhausted and hard at the same time. Knowing him, he probably stuck around a minute or two more to spread smiles and grease-tinged reassurances. Knowing him.

“Fuck,” Woohyun hisses as he sees Sungyeol. “What kind of bastard?”

“It wasn’t an accident, then?” Dongwoo’s voice tilts upward with sinking hope, but even he doesn’t sound like he believes it. 

“How could it possibly be an accident?” The disdain is thick in Sungjong’s voice, though Myungsoo knows it’s aimed at the person who did this, not at Dongwoo. “What, they were aiming at one of those little girls and just happened to miss?”

“It wasn’t,” Myungsoo says flatly, seeing it again in his mind. Not with aim like that, not with force like that. 

“Someone probably just wanted to get on the news tonight,” Sunggyu says. Myungsoo’s head whips around to face him at that, but Sunggyu holds steady under the fierceness of Myungsoo’s gaze, and after a moment Myungso relaxes—Sunggyu doesn’t believe what he just said at all. He can see it in their leader’s eyes: he’s remembering that bruise a few weeks ago just like Myungsoo is. Sunggyu offers him a small, sharp nod, his round jaw set, letting Myungsoo know that he’s taking this every bit as seriously as Myungsoo is. Grimly satisfied, Myungsoo turns back to face the front again.

“Yeah,” Sungyeol says, and his voice only sounds the slightest bit shaky ( _Myungsoo’s fingernails, short as they are, are grinding holes in the palms of his hands. If he keeps this up, he’ll bore all the way through them by the time they reach home_ ). “I bet it’ll trend on twitter. Everyone on the internet will be talking about me tonight, aren’t you all jealous?”

And somehow Sungyeol turns it into a game: who can imagine the most ridiculous reasons to trend on twitter. Dongwoo joins in immediately, and Woohyun catches on quickly enough—Woohyun is good at understanding people’s coping techniques—and even though his smile looks more fake than it ever has, he plays along. Hoya, of course, contributes the most perverted scenarios possible, while Sungjong acts like they’re all so immature and he doesn’t find it funny at all, even though his lips are twitching with laughter.

But Myungsoo can’t join the fun, not even when he feels Sungyeol sneaking glances at him. He’s still pulsing with anger ( _with fear_ ), and he’s grateful for Sunggyu sitting beside him. The leader is smiling his indulgent smile that he gets when the members are joking around, but Myungsoo can see that his eyes are still as sharp as before. Myungsoo is glad.

The doctor comes to them at the dorm, because that causes less of a mess with the press and the fans than going to an actual hospital, and it takes seven stitches—‘only seven’ the doctor had said, but that was seven too many in Myungsoo’s opinion. He leans against the wall while the doctor’s hands move deftly, watching the way Sungyeol’s long fingers flex and tense with each dip of the needle, the little flashes of pain across Sungyeol’s face. Sungyeol is a wimp most of the time, complaining about the tiniest things and milking small injuries for far more than they’re worth, but he’s strangely stoic when it’s something real. Myungsoo meets Sunggyu’s eyes over Sungyeol’s head, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining that there’s a promise in Sunggyu’s eyes. 

After a dinner during which Sungyeol jokes around as much as ever and everyone tries to pretend like everything is okay, Myungsoo lays in his bed and listens to the sound of Sungyeol’s breathing, and he makes a lot of promises in his head.

He doesn’t get to keep very many of them, though.

 

 

Myungsoo’s liked Sungyeol since he met him ( _Myungsoo’s thought that Sungyeol is the most amazing person on the planet since he met him_ ), but he’s never admired him as much as he does over the next few days. The flop of his long hair and some serious makeup hide the stitches, but it’s Sungyeol himself that deflects the insistent questions of the interviewers, treating the whole thing so lightly that it makes them seem silly to even pursue it. It’s kind of amazing; Myungsoo had no idea that Sungyeol could maneuver things that skillfully, jerking the rug right out from under the canned questions; he was training to be an MC back at SM, but now Myungsoo thinks he might have missed his calling by joining Infinite, because Sungyeol completely controls the conversation without seeming to do it at all, making it seem as though it was no more important than a mosquito bite. _No wonder the fans voted him the smartest_ , he thinks as he watches Sungyeol laugh, teeth flashing. He’s always known Sungyeol was smart, but he’d never thought much about it. This is a kind of brilliance he hadn’t known his best friend possessed.

Some of Myungsoo’s awe must show in his eyes, because Sungyeol gives him a look as they leave the studio. “What?”

Myungsoo just shakes his head. “I think you’re getting greasier even than Woohyun, and I didn’t think that was possible—how do you not slide right off your seat when you sit down?”

Sungyeol shoves him away and Myungsoo laughs for the first time since the rock flew.

 

 

“They’re looking into it,” is all Sunggyu will tell him when he corners him in the kitchen one night when everyone is getting ready for bed. 

“‘Looking into it,’” Myungsoo echoes in disbelief. “That’s it?”

Sunggyu looks tired and more than a little grumpy, but Myungsoo doesn’t care ( _not when it’s Sungyeol_ ). Sunggyu sighs deeply. “They’re doing what they can. There’s not a lot of evidence to go on, and it’s just one little rock.”

“One little rock!” Myungsoo’s so angry that the words come out _quieter_ instead of louder. “He had to get stitches, hyung! Someone hurt him on purpose!”

“I know. I know that. But in the grand scheme of things, that’s not very important, is it?”

Myungsoo almost wants to punch him, except that he recognizes that Sunggyu hates this as much as he does, that he’s just repeating what he’s been told. Still, he might have stewed at his hyung for days if weren’t for what Sunggyu says next: “We’ll just have to keep our eyes open and watch him closely, won’t we? We’ll take care of him.”

That, at least, Myungsoo can agree with.

 

 

Myungsoo checks the internet fan chatter precisely once; he takes one glance at what they’re saying—that it was staged for publicity, that that sort of thing has been happening for months and the band is covering it up, that Sungyeol deserves it because it’s not like he contributes to the band anyway—and gets so sick he has to close the window. He doesn’t look again. ( _Though the one that made him angriest of all—the theory that some Myungjong fan had done it to warn Sungyeol to keep away from Myungsoo—won’t leave his brain for days, and it’s all he can do to look pleasant in interviews when he thinks that one of the people saying that sort of thing might be watching._ )

 

 

They stop accepting fan gifts after a bag that someone handed Sungjong ended up holding a little voodoo doll with pins skewering it ( _you can tell it’s supposed to be Sungyeol by the skinniness of the limbs and by the tiny little earrings rimming the shell of his ear, and it’s so weird and foreign, like something from an American movie, that Myungsoo almost can’t believe what he’s looking at_ ). Sungyeol wants to keep it—“Sungjong and I can make little outfits for it like we did with the dogs! We’ve still got that sewing machine around here somewhere, don’t we?”—which Myungsoo thinks is just sick, but Sunggyu hands it over to the managers to hand over to the police, though he doesn’t look very convinced that anything will come of it. Security is heightened, too, more managers with them more often, the guards at the apartment building and the practice studio go through more training, more rules handed down from the CEO about where the members can go and when. Normally the members would chafe against the heavy-handedness of it all, but not even Sungjong whines and Woohyun doesn’t say anything passive-aggressive about it, either. Sungyeol insists it isn’t necessary, but no one pays any attention to him. It’s still less than Super Junior or the SNSD sunbaes have to subject themselves to, but to Myungsoo it doesn’t seem like nearly enough.

 

 

Myungsoo can’t stop staring at the faces pressed up against the window. Sungjong elbows him in the ribs, “Stop that, hyung,” but Myungsoo doesn’t. It’s strange: he’s been looking at them since the members entered the restaurant ( _he chose this side of the table on purpose_ ), watching as the numbers grow, and yet he doesn’t see them at all. They aren’t individual people with big eyes or small noses or specific haircuts: they’re as basic and indistinguishable as a smiley face drawn by a child, face after face like someone copied and pasted just one image over and over ( _Myungsoo wouldn’t have thought it would be possible to hate something that lacks specificity this way_ ).

“Myungsoo, aren’t you going to eat?”

Myungsoo finally shifts his gaze from the faces in the window to Dongwoo’s expectant eyes. “I’m not hungry, hyung,” he says after a moment, and Dongwoo’s eyebrows fly up.

“ _You’re_ not hungry?” 

( _Myungsoo eats the most of all the members, and everyone knows it; he and Sungjong are the only ones who don’t have to worry about their weight, and Sungjong eats just as precisely as he does everything else. Sometimes Myungsoo catches Woohyun staring at him as he shovels down spoonful after spoonful of something tasty, and he thinks he sees envious hatred in those eyes._ )

“Did you ransack Sungjong’s backpack again?” Sungyeol asks, setting off a round of “I don’t do that anymore, hyung!” protests from the maknae.

But now Myungsoo isn’t staring at the faces anymore: he’s staring at the line of Sungyeol’s shoulders. Sungyeol had almost tripped over Dongwoo’s feet trying to get to the opposite side of the table, suddenly clumsy as Myungsoo himself, yet he was laughing, careless and loud ( _it didn’t fool Myungsoo_ ). But as casual as he’s been acting throughout the meal, Myungsoo can see the tension in his shoulders so clearly. 

Myungsoo doesn’t understand why Sungyeol wants to keep his back to the faces; himself, he’d rather let them know that he’s watching ( _Myungsoo is always going to be watching_ ).

 

 

“Don’t try to lose them.”

Sunggyu’s voice is soft, but Myungsoo can hear it over the sound of Hoya and Dongwoo laughing about something behind him. Geonam-hyung glances over at Sunggyu briefly before returning his eyes to the road ahead of them. Sunggyu leans closer to the driver. “We’ll deal with them when we get there; it would be worse to end up in an accident.”

Myungsoo knows he’s right, but that doesn’t mean he relaxes any. He’s been watching the taxis in the rearview mirror: the way they stay so close to the band’s van, like they’re being dragged by magnets. Myungsoo suspects that they wouldn’t be able to lose them even if they tried; those taxi drivers get paid a _lot_ of money.

Beside him, Sungyeol laughs.

 

 

Myungsoo comes out of the bathroom at the salon—APink is there, too, and it’s the typical kind of chaos it is when both groups are trying to get ready at the same time. Dongwoo’s asleep in his chair, oblivious to the noise, and the stylist working on his hair looks amused; Sunggyu’s staring at his own face in the mirror, though Myungsoo knows by the way his mouth’s moving that he’s not seeing anything: he’s going over schedules and commitments in his head. Myungsoo is about to wander over to where Woohyun is waiting his turn in the corner—it looks like there’s room for him to spread out on the benches to catch a nap—but then he catches a glimpse of Sungyeol out of the corner of his eye. He’s just standing there, nothing worth noticing ( _except in the way that Sungyeol is always worth noticing_ ), but there’s something about his complete stillness and the bend of his head makes Myungsoo’s heart stutter in his chest.

He’s across the room in seconds, and he pulls the papers out of Sungyeol’s hands with such force that Bomi, sitting nearby and being fussed over by her makeup artist, jumps in surprise.

“Hey!” Sungyeol yelps, but Myungsoo’s eyes are scanning the words. He can’t make sense of them, though a few leap of the page: none of them make _sense_ , because there are terrible, terrible insults right next to words like ‘mine’ and ‘forever,’ and the juxtaposition is horrifying.

It takes Myungsoo a few seconds to stumble past the words themselves enough to notice the rust color of the ink they’re written in—except that it isn’t ink at all ( _a few minutes later, the bathroom, heaving acid when there’s nothing else left to throw up, with Woohyun trying to comfort him, he swears he can smell the blood_ ).

Beating back the urge to rip them into tiny pieces is one of the hardest battles he’s ever fought, but he knows that he needs to give them to Sunggyu to give to a manager to hand over to the police or whoever’s ‘looking into it.’ He knows that, but he would give almost anything in the world to be able to rip them up ( _the way he wants to rip up the person who sent them_ ).

He storms over to Sunggyu, startling the leader out of his thoughts, and shoves the papers into his hands. “He had these,” he says, and he’d probably be scared of the intensity in his own voice if he weren’t shaking with other emotions. “He had these—how did he get them? We’re not getting mail anymore. How did he _get them_?”

Sunggyu just looks at him vacantly for a moment, then looks down at the papers; his face goes hard like he’s been transformed into stone. He bats the stylist’s hands away and rises. “I will take care of this,” he promises, his voice almost as intense as Myungsoo’s own, and then he’s gone and Myungsoo is left staring after him.

“Wow, people really are committed to being green these days, aren’t they?”

Myungsoo turns, very slowly, to face Sungyeol, who’s standing there with a smile on his face like his voice wasn’t just shaking as he said that ridiculous thing.

“What?” Myungsoo asks, very calmly.

“I mean, don’t you think that’s taking the whole ‘natural products only’ thing a bit too far? Is ink really that bad for the environment?”

Myungsoo stares at him blankly until it finally connects what Sungyeol is talking about, and then he can’t keep the words from bursting out of him, because how in the world can he be _joking_ about this? “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Sungyeol’s smile flickers, then steadies. “Well,” he says, his voice throatier than usual. “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?”

Myungsoo bolts for the bathroom and barely makes it in time.

 

 

Myungsoo nudges the door to their bedroom open and sees Sungyeol sitting motionless on his bed, staring at nothing. Behind him in the living room, Myungsoo can hear Dongwoo and Hoya playing video games and tossing good-natured insults back and forth, but the noises seem so far away, another world entirely from where Sungyeol is sitting wrapped in silence.

Myungsoo just looks at him, at the face he knows better than his own, at those lanky limbs that are usually so loose and careless in their motion, now utterly still, bound with tension. Sungyeol’s face is blank in a way that Sungyeol’s face never is, and Myungsoo feels like his own body is going to come apart.

After a while ( _a long while_ ), it becomes so much that Myungsoo can’t stand it any longer, and pushes the door open all the way, shuffling into the room.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice cracks ( _like Sungyeol’s cracks, except not as endearing_ ). 

Sungyeol blinks, his head flying up, and suddenly the blankness is gone, a blinding smile in its place ( _that smile is so, so much worse_ ). “Hey! Did Hoya get a new game? Is it any good? I think I’ll check it out.”

He rises and starts loping towards the door. Myungsoo catches him by the arm. “Are we gonna talk about this?” he asks, and more emotion comes through his tone than he wanted.

Something flickers across Sungyeol’s face for the briefest of moments before his smile settles back into place. “Talk about what?” he asks, all casual, and Myungsoo wants to cry.

“Don’t play stupid! About these—these— _fans_!” Myungsoo spits out the last word like it’s poison, because it is: when they were seven boys dreaming in that mold-ridden house in Mangwondong, practicing eighteen hours a day in the un-air conditioned practice room, they couldn’t have imagined anything like this when they wondered what it would be like once they had fans.

“What’s there to talk about?” Sungyeol asks, and Myungsoo’s grip loosens out of shock. Sungyeol pulls away and then he’s gone; Myungsoo can hear his voice greet the other members, overly bright, and their answering invitations to join them.

Myungsoo falls onto Sungyeol’s bed, buries his face in the pillow ( _the pillow that smells like Sungyeol_ ) and screams his throat raw ( _Sunggyu is horrified the next day, horrified and angry, but Myungsoo doesn’t care: it was that or cry, and Myungsoo hurts too much to cry_ ).

 

 

That night, the managers go over even stricter protocols for safety, and when Hoya says, “It _would_ be Sungyeol with the weird-ass fans,” it takes both Dongwoo and Woohyun to hold Myungsoo back ( _Hoya’s joking, Myungsoo knows that, knows he’s joking to lighten the mood, to shatter the shell of fear-driven seriousness that’s solidifying around them daily. Sungyeol even laughs and agrees. But that isn’t enough to soothe Myungsoo’s anger—if anything, it makes it burn brighter_ ). 

 

 

Sungjong climbs into the back seat beside him on the way home one night, sliding up close ( _Sungjong isn’t very demonstrative, really, but he knows Myungsoo is and he’s always been good about letting Myungsoo meet his cuddle-quota, as Woohyun calls it. Sungjong is pretty wonderful_ ). Sungyeol is laughing with Dongwoo in front of them, and Myungsoo knows he’s glaring at his best friend, but he can’t help it.

“You never laugh when Sungyeol-hyung jokes anymore,” Sungjong says after a moment, his voice quiet, and Myungsoo remembers another time here in the back seat, when Sungjong had nudged him playfully and teased, “Whenever Sungyeol-hyung is fooling around, you’re always the one who laughs the most, don’t think people don’t notice.”

Myungsoo hadn’t responded then, because even if he was the type to talk about things, he would never talk about that. Because that is only his, how he feels when Sungyeol makes him laugh. It doesn’t belong to anyone else and he doesn’t want anyone else to touch it. It isn’t just that Sungyeol is funny, though he _is_. As stupid as it sounds, it’s that when Sungyeol is being silly, Myungsoo feels this…joy. Joy at being alive and in the same room as Lee Sungyeol. He can think, _That’s my best friend—look at him_ , and the feeling flaming in his chest is something like awe and something like pride and something like delight ( _something like something more than that, something Myungsoo doesn’t let himself label, even in his own mind_ ).

Except that he hasn’t felt that in a long time. Now when Sungyeol smiles, his eyes are a little too bright; when he laughs, his laugh is a little too loud; when he clowns, his movements are a little too wild. And it isn’t that Myungsoo doesn’t understand that Sungyeol needs to keep laughing, keeping moving, especially in front of the cameras and fans—he _does_ , he understands it better than anyone because he understands Sungyeol—it’s that he never seems to let the mask slip even just a little ( _never admits how scared he is_ ). And Myungsoo can’t handle the way he won’t treat this seriously at _all_.

“It’s not the same anymore, Sungjongie,” he whispers finally, and just saying it out loud is such exquisite pain. 

Sungjong lays his head on Myungsoo’s shoulder and slides his hand into Myungsoo’s. “I know, hyung.” 

He doesn’t promise that everything will be okay, and Myungsoo is so thankful.

 

 

Another sports day rolls around, time for inter-band bonding and perfectly-choreographed fanservice, and Myungsoo leaps on the opportunity. He latches onto Sungyeol’s back like he used to do, like he hasn’t done in a long time, and he doesn’t care ( _except that he does_ ) when Sungyeol tenses for a moment under his arms. Sungyeol does that thing he’s always done where he acts like it’s not even worth noticing that he has 178 centimeters of best friend clinging to his back like a monkey, carrying on laughing with Chanhee and teasing Niel. Myungsoo hooks his chin on Sungyeol’s shoulder and closes his eyes, breathing him in ( _and admits to himself that this is what he’s wanted to do since he saw that rock strike Sungyeol’s forehead: this is what he’s wanted to do but hadn’t felt that he was allowed, and he’s not going to let go again until he has to_ ). 

He doesn’t spend the whole day that way, because that would be too much even to explain away by fanservice, but he keeps Sungyeol always within sight, and even while he’s giving Dongwoo a piggyback ride, he’s got one eye on where Sungyeol is throwing hearts at the audience with Woohyun. Sungyeol seems a little more relaxed than he has been lately, the light in his eyes less desperate, and Myungsoo knows it’s because there’s a stadium full of people—witnesses, should something happen, which it won’t, because the security at these events is as intense as that for the president of some visiting country. 

“So Myungsoo, do you want to be surgically attached to Sungyeol’s back?” Hoya asks when they climb into the van that night. “Because I’m pretty sure Woohyun could hook you up with his plastic surgeon—“

He doesn’t quite finish the sentence because Woohyun leaps on top of him and then they’re wrestling and laughing, jostling the van while Sunggyu sits there shaking his head in that way he has like he can’t believe the things that go on around him and what did he ever do in a former life to deserve his dongsaengs? Dongwoo launches himself into the tickle fight just because he can—Dongwoo is so much like a puppy sometimes—and Sungjong rolls his eyes, which seems to be his default reaction to anything his hyungs do lately. Sungyeol laughs and drags Woohyun off of Hoya, and his laughter is _right_ this time.

Myungsoo smiles.

 

 

He doesn’t smile three days later when Sungyeol wanders a little too close to the fans and someone—they never find out who—sticks their leg out past the cordon as the band is headed to a filming. Sungyeol goes sprawling, and in any other context it would be funny, the way his limbs go everywhere like a giraffe on ice, but it isn’t at all, especially not when a hand shoots out from knee-height—someone crouching down behind the first row of fans—and yanks a handful of Sungyeol’s hair out by the roots. 

The left side of his face is skinned up, the wounds scabbing over before falling off a few days later and leaving the skin behind pink and tender. Sungyeol jokes about it because that’s what Sungyeol does these days, but he can’t sleep on his left side, and for the first time in his life, Myungsoo finds it hard to fall asleep.

 

 

Sungyeol’s phone rings while they’re waiting to be ushered out onto the stage, and Myungsoo barely notices; he’s telling Woohyun about the new manga he’s started and the crowd on the other side of the wall is cheering for the SISTAR girls: it’s a moment like a thousand others he’s had since they debuted. 

But he distantly notes Sungyeol’s “Yoboseyo?” and then out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sungyeol's face go white, and when he laughs, it’s a little too shrill-edged ( _and his face still with the scabs Myungsoo can make out even through the layers of makeup_ ). “Honey, I think you’ve got the wrong number, I’m not your boyfriend,” Sungyeol lilts, and Myungsoo _knows_.

He’s pivoted before he even knows what he’s doing, ripping the phone out of Sungyeol’s hand ( _the skin feels coldcoldcold_ ), and the snarl of his own voice startles him ( _he’s never sounded like this before, he knows it, but then he’s never had reason to_ ). “You listen to me: if you call him again, I will hunt you down and tear you to shreds, you fucking piece of shit, I swear to—“

“Myungsoo!”

In all the time Myungsoo has known him, he’s never Woohyun look like that, his eyes so wide, his face so taut with shock and fear. Woohyun’s hands fumble the phone as they pull it out of Myungsoo’s grip and end the call.

“Myungsoo, you _can’t_ ,” and Woohyun sounds desperate, and Woohyun is never desperate ( _or at least he never shows it_ ), Woohyun is constantly aware of how he appears to others and he would never show a side of himself like that.

Myungsoo lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, trying to tamp his rage back down; he feels his lips trembling and he wants to scream. When he opens them again, Sungyeol is looking at him ( _his eyes have always been big, but right now they’re swallowing his face and Myungsoo wants to tumble into them and never resurface_ ), but he averts his gaze immediately.

Sunggyu’s pushed his way over to them, and Myungsoo doesn’t hear Woohyun explain anything that happened, but somehow Sunggyu figures it out ( _sometimes Myungsoo could swear that Woohyun and Sunggyu are psychically linked_ ). 

His leader’s hands are warm as they rest on Myungsoo’s shoulders ( _and all Myungsoo can think about is how cold Sungyeol’s hands were_ ). “Myungsoo. Myungsoo, look at me.” He does, reluctantly, and there’s nothing comical about the narrowness of Sunggyu’s eyes. “You can’t do that again. You _can’t_. Taking it seriously like that only encourages them, you know that. You _cannot do that again_. Do you understand me?”

Myungsoo thinks of Sungyeol’s bright reply, the _endearment_ he used, and he wants to throw up ( _he does, after the performance, retching over the toilet, this time with Sungjong’s hand firm on the back of his neck_ ). But he finally nods, just once, a shallow jerk that’s all his muscles will allow.

They change Sungyeol’s number immediately, of course, but Myungsoo still tenses every time Sungyeol’s phone rings.

 

 

The next time, it’s spray-painted graffiti on the door of their apartment, words like the ones from the letters before, and Myungsoo is so thankful that he and Hoya got back before any of the others that he could throw up ( _and does again, later_ ). A call from the manager who’s with them, and the schedules get shuffled around so that Sungyeol won’t come back to the dorm until this is taken care of. Two hours later and it’s like the words were never there at all, and none of the others even notice the new layer of paint on the door.

Sungyeol doesn’t ever find out, but Myungsoo feels like every one of those words is tattooed onto the backs of his eyelids ( _he sees them whenever he closes his eyes, neon green and leering_ ).

 

 

Geonam-hyung stops driving them places because he gets too jumpy when the taxis start trailing them. The other managers take over and drive with jaws set, not laughing and joking with the boys like they used to.

 

 

For the rest of his life, Myungsoo will remember the day with the knife as the worst he ever lived through. That, even though he won’t remember one single thing that happened that day leading up to the walk past the fans to the studio. It wasn’t a very memorable day till that moment, and what happens after seems to bleed back and obscure the rest of the day under a smear of chaos and fear ( _and blood_ ).

They’ve learned their lesson—Sungyeol is walking as far from the fans as he can without brushing up against the wall on the far aside, Sunggyu’s arm flung casually ( _anything but casually_ ) over his shoulder and Jungryoul-hyung is a step behind him. Myungsoo always tries to walk behind Sungyeol these days instead of in front of him, and even though the company isn’t thrilled about that—with him being the visual, they like to have him in the front—they’ve mostly allowed it ( _Myungsoo can be really stubborn when he wants to be, and Woohyun is fine with taking the brunt of the attention, or at least he says he is_ ). He tries not to stay too close since Sungyeol had spun on him once when they were away from fan eyes and said, “I don’t need a bodyguard, Myungsoo” ( _Myungsoo had wanted to argue with him that yes he very much did, but he settled for glaring instead_ ), but he also can’t completely fight away his desire to plaster himself onto Sungyeol to make it harder for anyone else to touch him. He splits the difference, so he’s no more than fifteen feet behind when the man jumps over the cordon and starts running at Sungyeol.

Myungsoo can’t say he’s surprised: he’s been bracing himself for this for weeks. He freezes, but it’s more because he’s waiting to see what happens: he really doesn’t think the guy will get far, not with the amount of security at this venue, not with the explosion of noise that rises as soon as everyone notices him, which is pretty much right away. 

Everyone does everything right. Jungryoul shoves Sungyeol up against the wall and wraps his own body around him, Sunggyu rushes to get the other members out of the way, the security people come swarming around. It all looks like it’s going to be shut down immediately.

Except that Sungyeol’s foot accidentally twists on a rock as Jungryoul pushes him, and he trips and goes down. Except that the security guy who’s leaping to catch hold of the man with the knife—oh, yes, there’s a knife, light flaring off the blade like a camera flash— _just_ misses the attacker, his fingers actually brushing against the man’s jacket ( _if everything leading up to this moment is a blur to Myungsoo, the attack itself is digital-quality clear_ ). 

Time doesn’t slow down, of course. It doesn’t do that in real life. So all of this unfolds so fast that it isn’t till afterwards that Myungsoo figures out what actually happened. All he’s really aware of is the fact that Sungyeol is somehow sprawled out on the ground and that there’s a knife headed towards him.

Myungsoo launches himself forward with more power than he’s ever put into any dance routine in his life, and in a move that Hoya will later compare to an American football player, he slams into the attacker. They hit the ground with a jolt and Myungsoo can smell the guy’s cologne ( _years later, whenever he smells that cologne on a passerby, he’ll have to stumble to the nearest trash can to throw up_ ) as the impact jars through his bones. He actually hears the sound of the man’s breath being pushed out of him by the force, even over the screams and pandemonium coming from the fans. He fumbles to get his arms wrapped around as much of the guy as he can—to hold onto him until someone shows up who can cart of him off to lock him up forever. Something cold slices along his skin just below his collarbone, but he ignores it. He just holds on tighter.

It’s only seconds before someone hauls him off, jerking him away from the man and to his feet. 

“Kim Myungsoo, what the fuck are you doing?” It’s Hyoan-hyung, and Myungsoo has never heard him curse before, not once. But the words don’t connect till later because every cell of Myungsoo is focused on where the men in uniforms are hauling the man to his feet. They stopped him. They got him.

His breaths are coming so hard they actually hurt, like the flesh is being peeled away from his ribs, but he manages to turn to see Sungyeol. Sungyeol, who by this time has righted himself, Sungyeol who is staring at him with a face so slack and white that it’s almost unrecognizable, Sungyeol who has a slash of red across his arm.

Myungsoo barely manages to stay upright—later, he’ll wonder how he did—when he sees the cut. It’s long, all the way across Sungyeol’s bicep, the blue cloth of his shirt splitting away on either side, and though later Myungsoo will learn that it’s not very deep, all Myungsoo is aware of at that moment is: blood. 

Myungsoo takes a stiff step towards Sungyeol, his hand rising to reach out without him even realizing it. But then Hyoan grabs him by the back of his shirt and drags him off ( _past the screaming and crying fans, past a wide-eyed Sungjong, away from Sungyeol and his_ blood) and into the building.

Hyoan starts yelling as soon as they’re inside, his voice wavering even while his volume doesn’t. “What the fuck were you thinking? That is not your job, Kim Myungsoo, you are not allowed to put yourself in danger, too—” Myungsoo blocks out the rest, looking over his shoulder through the open door—he can only see fans, their faces contorted strangely ( _or maybe that's his eyes tricking him_ ), not anyone he cares about. Hyoan has him by the collar and is shaking him, but Myungsoo barely feels it.

A second later, Sungyeol is pushed through the door, his hand clamped over the blood ( _it’s slipping through his fingers and Myungsoo wants to scream_ ), sandwiched between Jungryoul and Geonam. The rest of the members tumble in just behind them and then the door slams shut; it isn’t enough to keep out the sound of the fans rioting outside.

Dongwoo rushes immediately to Sungyeol’s side, tearing his over-shirt off and pressing it to the wound. Sunggyu is talking frantically with Jungryoul, and Woohyun has his arm wrapped so tight around Sungjong’s shoulders that Myungsoo wouldn’t be surprised if the maknae snapped right in half. Hoya, strangely, is just looking blank. Blank, the way Myungsoo feels.

He stares at the top of Sungyeol’s head because he can’t see his face—he’s looking down at where Dongwoo is still trying to staunch the flow of blood. Myungsoo takes a step towards him.

He stops, though, when Sungjong gasps suddenly. “Hyung, you’re bleeding too!”

It takes Myungsoo a moment to realize that Sungjong is talking to him. When he finally sees all the eyes now glued to him, he looks down, distantly noting the blood soaking into his shirt from the three inch long cut just below his collarbone. Huh. He hadn’t even felt it. 

The appearance is cancelled, because not even kpop’s indomitable the-show-must-go-on attitude can quite survive this. Someone shows up from somewhere with a first-aid kit and plasters up Myungsoo and Sungyeol’s cuts—no stitches necessary this time; the cuts were shallow. Things are still just crazy, so many people running around and panic buzzing in the air, but Myungsoo can’t do anything but look at Sungyeol, at every part of Sungyeol, focusing one moment on his cheekbone ( _if he looks closely enough, he swears he can still see a scar from his fall weeks ago, even though he knows that’s impossible_ ), the next on his fingers ( _twitching_ ), then his knee, then the bandage around his arm ( _they cut the sleeve of his shirt right off, and Sungyeol had teased the coordi-noona with the tear-stained face into cutting off the other one to match. Sleeveless like that, the white of the bandage almost looks like one of those sweatbands Dongwoo likes to wear; he could almost be dressed for practice_ ). He runs his eyes over and over Sungyeol’s body, trying to reassure himself that he’s here and whole and _okay_. He can’t look at Sungyeol’s eyes, though, not when he caught glimpse of them earlier: Myungsoo hadn’t understood that look in Sungyeol’s eyes at all, but it had scared him. Throughout the whole thing, people keep popping up to tell him off for being so stupid—all of the other managers, Sunggyu, Woohyun, Sungjong, some random coordi people he doesn’t even recognize—but Myungsoo doesn’t hear a word.

Eventually they end up in a green room, the seven of them behind a guarded door ( _no windows_ ), all the managers outside trying to prepare everything so they can get the members back to the van with minimal chaos ( _Myungsoo doesn’t envy them the task_ ).

No one says anything, and Myungsoo doesn’t remember a time they were all together and this silent. They scatter through the room as though trying to fill it up with something other than noise, but while these rooms have always seemed way too cramped before, right now this one seems to dwarf them.

“Well,” Hoya says eventually, “at least we know that after we disband, Myungsoo has a future as a bodyguard.”

Dongwoo laughs nervously, because that’s what Dongwoo does, but even he doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s funny. It doesn’t shatter the tension in the room, but Woohyun turns to Sunggyu and starts talking in an undertone about rescheduling the appearance—Myungsoo knows he doesn’t care at all right now, but he’s trying to act like things are normal.

Myungsoo’s been circling Sungyeol since it happened, in big loops like he’s kept in orbit by Sungyeol’s gravity, but now he feels himself being reeled in. It takes him probably five minutes to inch his way across the room, but then he’s standing just behind Sungyeol, and his fingers reach up to fidget with the edge of the bandage ( _because he can’t do what he really wants to do right now_ ).

Sungyeol spins around so fast that Myungsoo almost falls over, and his hand _slaps_ Myungsoo’s away. 

“What the fuck were you doing?” His voice snaps, and this time Myungsoo can’t help but meet his gaze: it’s flashing with something that doesn’t look like anger even if that’s the tone in his voice.

Myungsoo gapes at him for a moment, then his own anger ( _feardesperationterror_ ) flares up to meet him. “He had a _knife_ , he _hurt_ you—“

“You are the biggest fucking idiot on the planet, I cannot believe—“

“No.” Sunggyu’s voice rings like a gunshot through the room and Myungsoo and Sungyeol freeze. Sunggyu stands slowly from where he was sitting on the couch, Woohyun looking up at him like he wants to take his hand. “Not now. No.”

Myungsoo and Sungyeol both fall into a sulky silence, and Sungyeol stomps over to the other side of the room to flop himself onto a chair next to Sungjong. Myungsoo collapses onto the counter behind him and spends the rest of the time they spend in the room stealing glances at Sungyeol across the way; Sungyeol refuses to look his direction even once.

Eventually, after who knows how long, the managers herd them out down a long hall and to a side door. They all dart through it and fortunately there aren’t any fans. The van waiting for them isn’t one Myungsoo recognizes, it’s smaller and a bit more cramped, but no one cares that they have to practically sit on top of each other to all fit inside ( _Myungsoo thinks the rest of them are taking comfort from the contact, but Sungyeol had made sure that he wasn’t anywhere near Myungsoo, so Myungsoo burrows in closer to Dongwoo and scowls_ ).

“Maybe,” Dongwoo whispers that night to Myungsoo as they get ready for bed ( _no one had said a word on the whole ride back or on the walk up to the dorm_ ), “that’ll be the end of it?”

Myungsoo’s never wished for anything so hard in his life, but he doesn’t believe it for a second ( _at this point, he doesn’t think he’ll ever wake up from this nightmare_ ).

 

 

The interviews afterwards are hell. 

Their CEO considered having them go on a break for a while, but in the end, he decided that it would actually be worse if they did that ( _and for once Myungsoo believes that everybody involved really does care about something other than money—there’s no talk of sending Sungyeol away at all_ ). Instead, the members are confined to either their dorm or the practice rooms whenever they aren’t in schedules; no more restaurants for dinner ( _they eat a lot of takeout, even more ramyun, and Woohyun forgoes sleep to in order to cook more often_ ), no more slipping out to coffee shops with the brims of their caps pulled down. No more of those little hints of normality they all clung to. Instead it’s schedules-practice room-home, and going to and from the van anywhere and everywhere is an ordeal. The new security guards are tall and broad and grim-faced, but Myungsoo doesn’t trust them ( _that’s not fair to them, but Myungsoo knows he wouldn’t trust anyone with Sungyeol’s safety now_ ). 

The attacker with the knife is in custody and will definitely face trial, and nothing else dramatic happens, but no one can relax, either, because letters are still coming—the members aren’t allowed to see them, of course, but it’s a small company, and word gets around ( _so it wasn’t just one lone freak then. Myungsoo had known it wouldn’t be that easy_ ). 

The ridiculous thing is, their sales and popularity have actually shot _up_. Sometimes Myungsoo really hates the world.

And of course all anyone wants to talk about in the interviews are the attack. Sungyeol does his thing perfectly, spinning it to make it sound simultaneously like an action movie and like it was nothing at all—how he balances the two, Myungsoo will never be able to figure out. As for himself, he uses L more than he has since their debut, answering in monosyllables and with a blank face, letting Woohyun take over whenever possible or Dongwoo laugh it all away. He actually gets more attention than Sungyeol—apparently the fangirls think he’s some kind of hero now, and it’s all anyone wants to talk about. 

He’s been exhausted pretty much since his first day as a trainee, but it’s so much worse now: the weariness ( _the fear_ ) feel like they’re weighing him down so that he feels ancient, and the interviews take so much out of him that he barely speaks to anyone anymore unless absolutely necessary ( _sometimes he thinks if he could just wrap himself around Sungyeol it would all be okay again, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever find out_ ). Dongwoo makes sure to always sit next to him in the van, his arm tight around Myungsoo’s shoulder, and Myungsoo is so grateful he could cry ( _except that he hasn’t cried once since this whole thing started; he’s pretty sure it would be such a relief, such a release to cry, but instead he throws up in random bathrooms and stares at walls for hours_ )—sometimes he feels like that arm is the only thing holding him together because otherwise he would just fall into a million pieces like confetti ( _sometimes he thinks that would be a relief—the wind would blow him away and he wouldn’t exist anymore_ ). 

Things between him and Sungyeol seem brittle—Sungyeol still jokes around, but not with Myungsoo, his eyes sliding away whenever they fall on him, and on the rare occasions when they’re alone, everything seems smeared with silence thicker than bb cream. It’s never been like this between them; the best thing about his relationship with Sungyeol is that it’s always been so _easy_. Even when they fought—and of course after living together for so long, they’ve fought many times—it was sort of like fighting with Moonsoo: the stakes weren’t high, because it was taken for granted that they would end up forgetting all about it within hours ( _it was taken for granted that they’d love each other anyway_ ).

Now, though, Sungyeol seems farther away than he ever has before, and Myungsoo has no idea what to do ( _and the only thing that could possibly be worse than Sungyeol being in danger is the possibility that Myungsoo might lose him completely even if he’s perfectly safe_ ).

 

 

They’re on right after Teen Top on some show or other ( _Myungsoo’s never really paid attention to which is which and he cares even less these days_ ), and Niel comes up to him during a commercial break, Byunghun right behind him. Myungsoo isn’t as close to either of them as Sungyeol is—Sungyeol _loves_ the Teen Top guys—but it’s nice to see them, even if he knows what they’re going to ask before they do.

“They won’t _tell_ us anything, hyung—is he going to be all right?” Niel asks, and Myungsoo isn’t sure whether it’s the eyeliner or his worry that makes his eyes look like that ( _Sungyeol always acted more like a hyung with Niel than with anyone, and so Myungsoo’s always had a fond spot for him_ ).

“They better lock those fuckers away forever.” Byunghun’s voice is taut and intense, and Myungsoo suddenly feels so close to him in his bitter anger. 

He doesn’t really know what to say, so he doesn’t say much, but his shoulders are a bit looser once they slap him on the back and leave to go report to the rest of their members. Knowing that the are other people outside of Infinite’s little world who actually know Sungyeol and who actually care—care enough to get angry the way Myungsoo is angry instead of trying to act like the whole thing is under control when it so clearly isn’t—it shouldn’t make him feel better, but it does.

 

 

Somehow they end up alone together in the practice room, which is a minor miracle—Myungsoo has long since figured out that Sungyeol’s been avoiding being alone with him, and his skills at manipulation have turned out to be even more impressive than Woohyun’s. Sungjong had been there with them, but Hyoan-hyung had come in to take him off to some schedule, and now it’s just Myungsoo and Sungyeol, running through the choreography over and over again, Myungsoo’s eyes on Sungyeol’s reflection in the mirror, Sungyeol’s gaze on anything that isn’t Myungsoo.

This should be so familiar by now, the music thumping through the floor, their bodies moving and twisting like reflections of each other, the sweat and the smell of this mildewed-scented room the same as they’ve always been. The songs change, the moves do, too, but 99.9% synchronicity doesn’t and neither does this place. It should be comforting, except that it’s different now. Everything is different now.

The song loops around for another repeat, and Myungsoo can’t take it anymore. He hurls his water bottle onto the ground, knowing that he’s being dramatic but not caring at all; the cap pops off and water spills out everywhere and he _does not care_. When he turns his fury to Sungyeol, Sungyeol’s been startled into actually looking at him, his eyes wide again.

“Are we _ever_ going to _talk about this_?” Myungsoo demands. They’re the same words from weeks ( _or is it months? Myungsoo’s gotten even worse about keeping track of the passage of time lately_ ) ago, but the emotions fueling them are even more combustible this time.

Sungyeol’s mouth twists up in an unfamiliar way, and the jerk of his shrug is so different than his typical loose movements. “What’s there to talk about?”

Myungsoo decides in that moment that the only thing in the universe he hates as much as whoever is torturing them this way is when Sungyeol plays stupid.

His anger sharpens him to sarcasm. “I don’t know—maybe the psychos that are stalking you?”

Nobody has used that word, not once since the whole thing started, and it’s almost a relief to vocalize it. Because that’s what this is and there’s no way to get around it. Why can’t everyone just _admit_ it?

Sungyeol turns his back, but Myungsoo can still see the curve of his cheek in the mirror( _so much less chubby than it used to be—Sungyeol is a man now for all he’s acting so childish, and Myungsoo’s not sure how to deal with that_ ). “Nothing’s happened in forever—how could they top the 007 scene?” His tone is a half-decent approximation of lightness. “I’m fine.”

_I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine._ Myungsoo feels like the last few months have been nothing but those two words repeated over and over and he hates them, hates them so much that his fingers and toes tingle with it. He stomps over to Sungyeol, grabs him by the shoulder ( _it’s the first time they’ve touched in weeks, and something shoots through Myungsoo at the feeling of bone and muscle under his hand_ ), and spins him around to face him.

“You’re not _fine_. Someone is _after_ you, someone wants to _hurt_ you, someone who’s not going to _stop_! Will you quit acting like this is all some big joke?”

And just like that, Sungyeol is as intense as he is, eyes flashing as he gets up in Myungsoo’s face ( _Myungsoo can feel his breath on his skin_ ), his features tense in a way Myungsoo has never seen before. “What do you want me to _do_?” he shouts, the anger only barely glossing over the desperation underneath it. “There’s nothing I can possibly do—do you want me to cower in my room or cry or what? Isn’t that what they expect? Isn’t that what they _want_ —to control me? This is happening, and there’s nothing I can do about it, so what do you want me to _do_?” 

His voice cracks at the end, and it always cracks, that’s what Sungyeol’s voice _does_ ( _it’s one of the things Myungsoo first found endearing about him, back when they first met and he didn’t know what Sungyeol would mean to him_ ), but this time it’s different, so much _worse_ , and it releases something inside Myungsoo with a snap, something big and overwhelming that’s been held in check for so long now ( _for so long it’s calcified and become part of Myungsoo’s bones, his skeleton, his foundation_ ).

He’s thought about kissing Sungyeol so many times that the thought of it has become worn and familiar like a folded-up photograph in his pocket, almost falling apart along the creases. He’s thought about it, but the newness of it, the realness of it, now that it’s happening—his hands fisting in Sungyeol’s shirt where just a moment before they’d slammed him up against the wall, his neck craned just a little to make up for the height difference, the smell of Sungyeol just _everywhere_ —is so sharp and so _much_ that he wants to cry. He just pours those emotions into the kiss, mouth moving over Sungyeol’s like he wants them to fuse together ( _he does_ ), then using his tongue to prise Sungyeol’s mouth open, sliding over slick teeth and rough tongue and smooth flesh and warm wetness. ( _And the best part is: after a moment, Sungyeol is kissing him back._ )

When they finally break apart, he keeps his eyes screwed up tight, pressing his forehead up against Sungyeol’s. He can feel Sungyeol’s panting against his lips, the heat of it, and he doesn’t unclench his fists. “Just…stop pretending with me.” He doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, is pretty sure he’s never sounded this way before. But it doesn’t matter because _Sungyeol_. “Pretend with everyone else if you need to,” he pants against Sungyeol’s lips (Sungyeol’s _lips_ ), “but not with me. _Please_.”

The last word comes out so desperate, so needy, but fuck it—Myungsoo _is_ desperate and needy and if he can’t show that to Sungyeol then he’ll never be able to show it to anyone ever. Pride is overrated anyway.

They stand like that for a moment, Sungyeol’s back up against the mirrors, Myungsoo’s eyes closed, foreheads together, both sucking in air like their lungs have forgotten how to work ( _and each breath Myungsoo takes feels like it’s coming straight from Sungyeol_ ). Myungsoo can feel Sungyeol’s hair against his temples, and he doesn’t loosen his hands. He's so overwhelmed that it takes him a moment to realize that the hitching of Sungyeol’s breath is speeding up, not slowing down, but it isn’t until he feels a brush of wet eyelashes against his cheek that he realizes that Sungyeol is crying.

The crying builds and builds till it’s weeping, till it’s sobbing, and then Sungyeol is just crumpling like every single feeling he’s been holding inside for months is flowing out of him. Myungsoo catches him ( _Myungsoo catches him_ ), pulling him into his arms and sliding them both to the floor. Sungyeol is crying so hard he’s body is wracked with the force of it, clinging to Myungsoo like Myungsoo’s never seen him cling to anyone, like Myungsoo didn’t even know he was capable of ( _he’s so much stronger than what people think, so much more_ ).

Myungsoo wraps himself around him like he’s wanted to since this thing started ( _like he’s wanted to for so much longer than that, for so long that he doesn’t remember where it started, maybe the first time the new trainee had smiled at him and told him he didn’t have to call him hyung_ ), trying to surround Sungyeol with as much of himself as possible, trying to pull him right inside him of him where he can keep him safe forever. 

Sungyeol’s face is tucked into the curve of Myungsoo’s neck and he can feel the wet of his tears, but he just buries his own face into Sungyeol’s hair ( _it’s sweaty from practice, but underneath is the smell of Sungyeol and there’s nothing better_ ). There are so many things he wants to say, so many promises he wants to make, things he wants Sungyeol to know. But he’s never been good at that, and even if he was, it would be too much for Sungyeol right now, and besides, Sungyeol probably wouldn’t be able to hear him over the heartwrenching sound of his own weeping. So Myungsoo just holds on tighter.

 

 

Some time later, he finds himself sitting with his back against the mirrors, Sungyeol’s head in his lap, his fingers stroking through Sungyeol’s hair ( _and yes, Myungsoo can admit that he’s always been fascinated with hair, but he’s so rarely gotten to touch Sungyeol’s and he thinks he'll never tire of the texture of it_ ). Sungyeol’s sobs have died down to shudders, and he’d murmured something earlier about the makeup noonas yelling at him tomorrow, though he hadn’t sounded like he cared much. As for Myungsoo, he doesn’t care about anything in the world but sitting here forever with Sungyeol sprawled out beside him, Sungyeol’s head cradled in his lap ( _it’s a more tender moment than Myungsoo ever could have imagined he’d get to have with Sungyeol; for all Sungyeol often spews out emotions everywhere, he’s actually really bad at expressing it when he feels something deep for people. He’s that guy who gets embarrassed when his mom hugs him in front of anyone else, despite the fact that he secretly adores her. He always has to deflect when a moment gets too serious, so Myungsoo had never let himself fantasize about something like this_ ). 

Sungyeol’s eyes are closed now, and Myungsoo isn’t sure whether he’s sleeping or just ashamed of his outburst, but it doesn’t really matter. He keeps running his fingers through Sungyeol’s hair until he hears Geonam-hyung’s voice out in the hall. Then he nudges Sungyeol till his eyes open, and the two of them head back home.

 

 

When Myungsoo comes back from brushing his teeth that night, Dongwoo is snoring away and Sungyeol is already in bed. Myungsoo stands beside the bed for a moment. Sungyeol’s eyes are closed, but he’s fidgeting a little in a way that lets Myungsoo know he’s not asleep. 

“Scoot over,” Myungsoo says.

Sungyeol’s eyes fly open. “What?”

“Scoot over,” Myungsoo repeats. 

Sungyeol’s mouth opens and shuts a couple of times, and it’s funny, so Myungsoo smiles ( _he hasn’t smiled very much lately_ ). “You’re making this awkward,” he informs Sungyeol, who if anything looks even more taken aback.

“ _I’m_ making this awkward? It’s already awkward! It’s fundamentally awkward! We’re _guys_ , and this bed is not big enough—“

Myungsoo gets tired of waiting, so he shoves Sungyeol up against the wall and climbs into the bed despite Sungyeol’s protests. 

“What do you think you’re _doing_?” Sungyeol yelps.

Myungsoo rolls over onto his side, pulling the sheets up. “Well, I’m trying to sleep, but someone keeps jabbering and keeping me awake.” He slides his arm around Sungyeol’s waist, pulling him back till Sungyeol’s back rests against his chest. Sungyeol wiggles, but Myungsoo just tightens his arm. 

“You’re too _hot_ ,” Sungyeol complains, and Myungsoo knows it’s true; people have been telling him he gives off heat like a radiator his whole life. But despite the whining, Sungyeol’s struggles to get away are only half-hearted ( _after a moment he actually curls right up against Myungsoo in a way that totally belies his objections_ ).

“Shut up and go to sleep before I kick your ass,” Myungsoo says, and after a little bit more whining, Sungyeol finally obeys.

( _It’s not the best sleep Myungsoo’s ever gotten. He’s woken up several times by an incredibly sharp elbow in his ribs to hisses of ‘You’re talking in your sleep again’ or ‘Give me back the covers, you greedy jerk.’ Plus, Sungyeol is kind of bony and the bed is really small. But this is still the most relaxed Myungsoo has felt in months, and he can deal with the dark circles under his eyes in the morning_.)

 

 

He wakes up for good when he hits the floor, the impact jarring through his tailbone, yanking half of the covers off of the bed since they’re tangled around his legs. He gapes up at Sungyeol, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Did you just kick me out of bed?” his voice is morning-rough, and despite the pout on Sungyeol’s lips, Sungyeol’s eyes darken as they stare down at him.

“You’re the one who climbed into someone else’s bed without permission. What do you expect?”

Well, actually, pretty much what just happened. Sungyeol is Sungyeol, after all. He hears laughing behind him and looks over his shoulder to find Dongwoo stopping in the middle of pulling on his shirt to laugh at them.

“What’s so funny?” he demands, a smile quirking his own lips ( _it usually takes him a lot longer than this to wake up in the mornings. But having his bones rattled from hitting the floor seems to do the trick_ ).

Dongwoo just keeps laughing, waving a hand helplessly in that way of his. Myungsoo turns back to look at Sungyeol, still hanging over the edge of the bed above him. His hair’s sweeping this way and that around his head and his eyes are puffy, probably from his crying jag yesterday. All Myungsoo wants to do is to reach up and drag him down onto the floor beside him and spend the rest of the morning getting to know every inch of his body, but he doesn’t want to traumatize their roommate, and if Dongwoo is already awake than that means they don’t have much time before they’ll have to leave for the day. So he tucks the desire away and just climbs to his feet, extricating himself from the sheets and blanket and tossing them onto to the bed before moving to grab some clothes to wear today ( _and, okay, he might press a quick kiss to Sungyeol’s lips while Dongwoo’s back is turned, making Sungyeol flush red and gape like a fish again, but it’s far less than he really wants to do, so he’s pretty impressed with his own self-control_ ). 

It occurs to him that Sungyeol’s wake-up call and his nervous twitching have something to do with Dongwoo and fear of how he’ll react, but Dongwoo treats it like any other morning, and the smile he gives Myungsoo before he shuffles out into the living room is softer than usual but just as sincere. Turning away with his own smile on his face, Myungsoo throws a balled-up shirt at Sungyeol’s face and tells him to get ready.

 

 

Things don’t really change between them in public, but that’s okay: Myungsoo didn’t really expect them to ( _he knows Sungyeol too well. He himself might be the clingy type, but Sungyeol is the opposite of that and that’s okay as long as it’s Sungyeol_ ). So there’s no holding hands, not even under the table, and he thinks Sungyeol would probably never speak to him again if he started talking to him any differently, so he doesn’t. But Sungyeol stops trying to avoid him and finally sits next to him when the opportunity presents itself and Myungsoo lets himself laugh at Sungyeol’s silliness again, and Woohyun slaps Myungsoo on the shoulder one morning before they climb into the van and tells him how happy he is that Myungsoo and Sungyeol are back to normal again.

Actually, it isn’t anything like normal. It’s better. Because when they find themselves alone, he can kiss Sungyeol if he wants to ( _he always wants to_ ) and even if Sungyeol blushes and acts awkward afterwards, he always kisses back. And they might not sleep in the same bed every night ( _because though Myungsoo may really like that idea, he doesn’t want to push too hard and also because he doesn’t want to make Dongwoo uncomfortable_ ), but at least once a week, Myungsoo doesn’t crawl up the ladder to his own bunk but pushes Sungyeol over till there’s room in his. Myungsoo thinks Sungyeol is probably never going to be a cuddler like Myungsoo himself is, but he doesn’t seem to mind so much spooning up sometimes. 

The thought occurs to Myungsoo more than once that he’s taking advantage of his friend—that Sungyeol is vulnerable and terrified and that he’s just letting Myungsoo near him in this way because he needs someone—but Myungsoo doesn’t care. If that makes him a selfish prick, then he’s a selfish prick, but he’s going to hold on to Sungyeol as tightly as he can.

 

 

The letters keep coming, Sunggyu tells Myungsoo in an undertone in another green room in another studio. And they’ve all noticed the taxis still following and the faces outside the windows of wherever they are.

“Just because nothing big has happened lately doesn’t mean we can afford to get lax,” Sunggyu says with a serious nod, and Myungsoo knew there was a reason he always liked their leader. 

 

 

Myungsoo is still terrified and angry, but it’s easier to bear now he has something else to think about ( _when can he next kiss Sungyeol, when can he next sleep with Sungyeol, when can he just look at Sungyeol: Myungsoo is easy, and he's not ashamed_ ). 

 

 

After the first time Sungyeol kisses _him_ —initiating it himself: grabbing Myungso by the sleeve as they pass each other in the bathroom getting ready that morning, tugging him forward and kissing him breathless—Myungsoo doesn’t stop grinning all day.

“You look even dorkier than usual, hyung,” Sungjong says, but he’s smiling a bit when he says it, and Sungyeol is stealing glances at Myungsoo from across the room, so Myungsoo grins wider. 

 

 

They come home one night to find the windows in the dorm all busted up, and even though no one could get in because of the bars ( _and the fact that they’re far above the ground floor_ ), it’s still disconcerting: just another reminder that they’re never safe, no matter where they are ( _that Sungyeol is never safe_ ). Myungsoo doesn’t notice the pieces of paper tied around the bricks until Sungyeol starts towards one, but fortunately Woohyun and Sungjong dart over and pick them up before Sungyeol can get ahold of one.

“Oh, look, it’s my mail,” Sungyeol says, his voice light in that way that lets them all know he’s trying too hard. Sungjong gives him a dark look, but he just smiles. “They’re addressed to me, hand them over,” he says, holding out his hand to Sungjong, and Myungsoo grabs his wrist, forcing his arm down.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says, and Woohyun collects all the letters and takes them to Sunggyu to hand over to the managers. Myungsoo glares at Sungyeol. “Do you enjoy torturing yourself?”

They haven’t talked about any of this since that night in the practice room, but that had been enough for Myungsoo: just to have him acknowledge that this was affecting him had settled some things in Myungsoo’s mind ( _if he’s scared, at least he’ll be careful, and Myungsoo hadn’t been sure of that until that night. Not to mention how it had made him feel to have Sungyeol be vulnerable in front of_ him _. He’s always wanted to be Sungyeol’s safe place, and while Sungyeol had cried in his arms, he could believe that he was_ ). Neither he nor Sungyeol have ever been the type to talk much about serious things, not even to each other ( _maybe especially not to each other_ ), so Myungsoo hadn’t pushed it.

Not now.

Sungyeol rolls his eyes and starts to turn away, but Myungsoo grabs him by the wrist and pulls him into the bedroom, ignoring the looks of the other members, closing the door behind them. 

“Why do you _look_ at them?” he demands before Sungyeol can even open his mouth to protest his treatment. “They all say the same thing—they all say—“ He chokes on the words, because nothing could ever induce him to speak those words aloud.

“They’re just words, Myungsoo,” Sungyeol says, trying to look bored. He doesn’t fool Myungsoo.

“Just words that you don’t need in your head,” Myungsoo shoots back.

“You’re not my mother, Kim Myungsoo. Or my bodyguard.”

Myungsoo makes a frustrated sound, shoving his hand through his hair. “No, I’m your—“

Sungyeol’s gaze sharpens at that. “You’re my what?” he asks, and Myungsoo can feel the pressure of him waiting from across the room.

Myungsoo looks away first this time, staring at Dongwoo’s ugly multicolored jacket hanging from the bedstead. They haven’t talked about this, about what they are. Enough things have changed between them that that Myungsoo knows that he’s _something_ new to Sungyeol, but not enough for him to be certain of what ( _and even if they had discussed it, he’s not sure what label he’d want to take: ‘boyfriend’ is way too small for what he wants to be to Sungyeol, but any other word he can think of is either saccharine or embarrassing_ ). 

It would be easy—and true—to say ‘your best friend,’ because at least he’s still that. But it would also feel like cowardice, like a step backwards, and Myungsoo won’t step back, not now that he’s taken this step forward.

So instead he takes a deep breath and forces himself to look back at Sungyeol’s face. “It’s what they want,” he says finally. “They want to be in your head—you shouldn’t let them.”

By the time he finishes speaking, Sungyeol’s face has closed off, and when he speaks, his voice is hard. “Well, since you seem to think I’m handling everything about this situation the wrong way, why don’t you just make me a list of what I should and shouldn’t do and I’ll memorize it, okay?”

Myungsoo jerks back at the harshness of the words, but when Sungyeol storms towards the door, he follows. “I’m trying to _help_ —I care about you!”

Sungyeol throws the door open and strides out into the living room where five startled faces greet him. “If you care so much, then quit pushing me,” he shoots over his shoulder, then turns back to the other members. “I’m sleeping in your room tonight,” he informs Sunggyu, not even waiting for permission before disappearing into the other bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Myungsoo is left standing lost in the middle of the living room, the others pretending not to look at him. The silence stretches taut and uncomfortable, so he swallows hard and turns stiffly to return to his room.

Dongwoo slips in later, quietly changing into his pajamas and getting ready for bed. Then he flips off the light and comes to sit down on the bed beside Myungsoo, who’s still staring sightlessly at the wall.

Dongwoo’s arm, as always, is a welcome warmth around Myungsoo’s shoulder, and Myungsoo leans into his hyung.

“He’s just scared, Myungsoo,” Dongwoo says, his voice pitched so much quieter than usual. “And you’re scared, too. It makes you both lash out. He knows you’re just concerned about him—he’ll come around.”

It’s so still in the room, and Dongwoo is so comforting beside him, that the words slip out, bittersweet but so true. “I love him, hyung.”

They all love each other, the members, they all tell each other that sometimes, mostly in an ‘I love you, bro’ kind of jokey way, but occasionally with earnestness as well. They’re friends, they’re family, they’re brothers: of course they love each other. But that’s not what Myungsoo means, and the way Dongwoo’s arm tightens around him tells Myungsoo that his hyung understands.

“I know, Myungsoo.”

Dongwoo presses a kiss to the top of his head, and for the first time since this whole thing started, Myungsoo cries. 

 

 

Things are tense between them for the next few days, back to the way things were before Sungyeol’s breakdown, and Myungsoo feels like he’s always gazing at Sungyeol’s back. 

Sungjong elbows him in the side before they walk out on stage. “Stop looking at him like that, hyung,” he hisses. “The fans will see.”

Myungsoo plasters on his blank look instead, but he feels like it’s transparent, that anyone who looks at him can see that every molecule of him is trained toward Sungyeol.

 

 

Jungryoul-hyung shows up at the door of the green room with a detective on a Tuesday morning when the members are getting ready to perform. Myungsoo shoots up out of his chair; this isn’t the first police officer they’ve talked to, but he’s the first they’ve seen in a while. Jungryoul beckons Sungyeol to join them in a small room down the hall, and Myungsoo follows.

Jungryoul sighs wearily as he stops him at the door. “He’s not here to talk to you, Myungsoo.”

But the detective looks thoughtful. “No, he’s the one who took the guy out, right? He can come in.”

Their manager doesn’t look pleased, but Myungsoo pushes past him and into the room, heading right to the chair beside Sungyeol’s. Sungyeol glances at him, but his gaze is distracted and his face is paler than usual. As Myungsoo sits, his maneuvers his chair as close to Sungyeol’s as he thinks could possibly be appropriate.

The questions the detective has are the same ones the members have all answered before: about whether they recognized the man, whether his name sounded familiar, what actually happened when he attacked, that sort of thing. He has them confirm that the man in the photographs he shows them is actually the one who attacked—which is stupid, in Myungsoo’s opinion, because they caught him at the scene with the knife in his hand and they’ve kept tabs on him since, but they answer anyway.

At some point along the way, Sungyeol’s hand slides under the table and latches on to Myungsoo’s leg just above the knee, so tight Myungsoo thinks the bones of his hand might snap in half.

“He’s been released on bail,” the detective finally says. “A trial date’s been set. We’re going to try to work things out so that you don’t have to testify—there’s plenty of evidence, some fans even caught it on video—but I can’t make any guarantees. They might call you in.”

The man is polite, professional, obviously very good at his job though he seems exhausted in a way that Myungsoo recognizes ( _from his mirror, from the faces of the other members_ ), and he sounds truly apologetic at the thought of making Sungyeol testify. But Myungsoo knows that everyone in the room is still hung up on the ‘released on bail.’

“We’re keeping an eye on him, of course,” the detective continues. “And of course your own security is excellent. I know he has accomplices, but I do think that he was the leader—things have been relatively quiet since his arrest—and I don’t think they’d act without him. Even with him free for a time, I don’t think they’ll act any more aggressively than they have been.”

Myungsoo, feeling sick again, wishes he was so sure.

Sungyeol rises and bows very low when the detective leaves, and Myungsoo does the same. Jungryoul, who had been standing in the corner through the interview, makes as if to lead them back to the green room, but Myungsoo shoots him a pleading look. Jungryoul gives him a long-suffering look, then holds up a finger before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

When Myungsoo turns back to him, Sungyeol is still standing where he was when he bowed, his hands dangling by his sides. Myungsoo has his arms around him in a second, Sungyeol’s forehead falling down to rest on his shoulder. Even when Myungsoo holding him so close, he trembles, his breath stuttering, and he feels so slight in Myungsoo’s arms.

When Jungryoul raps on the door a minute or two later, Sungyeol pulls back. He straightens his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and then he walks out of the room. 

His fingers brush against Myungsoo’s as he goes, and Myungsoo follows.

 

 

Sungyeol slides over against the wall that night when he climbs into bed, turning onto his side and not saying anything. Myungsoo lays down beside him and slips his arm around him, feeling like he can breathe again.

 

 

“We’ve heard your attacker has been released on bail,” the pretty MC says, her voice light like she’s talking about a scheduled concert or something. “What do you say to the fans who are worried that you don’t have the courage to face this?”

Hoya shifts at the thinly-veiled insult, and even Dongwoo doesn’t laugh. Myungsoo risks a look at Sungyeol’s face, and though his smile is still in place, Myungsoo can see the look in his eyes so clearly. His mouth twitches as he opens it to answer, and Myungsoo knows he’s going to turn this into a joke again, totally ignoring the lack of tact.

“Lee Sungyeol is the bravest person I know.” The words are out of Myungsoo’s mouth before he even thinks about them. Woohyun shoots him a ‘remember the concept!’ look, Sungjong’s bitch face looks even bitchier than usual, and Myungsoo can tell by the set of Sunggyu’s jaw that he’ll be ripping Myungsoo a new one tonight. He ignores them; he can feel Sungyeol beside him, stiff with surprise. He doesn’t look at him. “He can be a child most of the time, but when it comes to something that matters, he’s the strongest.”

The MC titters nervously at the unexpectedly serious answer from the supposedly-reticent visual, and Dongwoo joins her. The mood seems thrown off, but Myungsoo doesn’t regret what he said: every word was true. Woohyun does what he does best, throwing himself into the awkwardness and charming the MC with an anecdote about how the maknae line is so much braver than their hyungs—Sungjong loves horror movies the rest of them can’t bring themselves to watch—and the strained moment is smoothed away with some Nam-grease.

“Kim Myungsoo, you are the most ridiculous,” Sungyeol says when they get back to their room, but his eyes are shining and his voice is teasing, and the way he kisses Myungsoo makes him forget all about the lecture about going off-script he’d gotten from Sunggyu. 

 

 

 

They’re three streets away from the dorm when Hyoan-hyung’s phone rings. Myungsoo isn’t paying much attention—he’s laughing too hard at Woohyun’s impression of Sungjong, something that never gets old ( _at least to everyone who isn't Sungjong_ ). It’s Sungyeol who notices that the van has turned down a side street and they’re headed back the way they came.

“Hyung, where are we going? I thought I was going to get a shower soon!”

Hyoan hesitates before answering. “We can’t go back to the dorm right now.”

That captures everyone’s attention, the laughter dying away. 

Sunggyu’s voice is low when he asks, “What happened?”

The manager doesn’t tell them until they get back to the practice room, where the members sit along the wall as he explains that there’s been an attempted break-in at the dorm. 

Dongwoo is the only one who can bring himself to ask. “Was it—?”

“They don’t think so. It was a woman.”

“They caught her?” Woohyun asks sharply.

“They did. She didn’t get very far—didn’t even get the door open—but she’ll be charged, too. We’ll need to stay here for a bit while they go over the crime scene.”

Hyoan goes out into the hall, leaving the members alone. Myungsoo shifts closer to Sungyeol, pressing their arms together. Sungyeol is quiet, but he doesn’t look nearly as wrecked as he had after the talk with the detective. Still, Myungsoo wants to give him as much comfort as he can.

Sunggyu rises suddenly. “Well, since we’re here,” he says, going over to the stereo and flipping on their latest single. The music grates up against the silence.

“ _Hyung_ ,” Sungjong whines. “We were supposed to be done for the day.” He must be really tired; he usually tries not to whine like that anymore.

Sunggyu doesn’t pay him any attention, gesturing for them to join him, and, shockingly, it’s Sungyeol, not Woohyun, who obeys first. Myungsoo follows immediately, understanding: this is more about giving them something else to focus on than it is about practice.

Two hours later, they’re all soaked with sweat, muscles and lungs aching like they always do after practice, and Hyoan comes in to tell them they can go home now. 

Myungsoo waits until they’re back in the room, just the two of them, Dongwoo taking a shower, before he lets loose. He’s still keyed up from dancing, sweaty and tingling with adrenaline, and there had been a bit of that tape they use to mark off crime scenes still stick to the front door of the apartment. 

“’Our security is excellent?’ Seriously? She got all the way into the building, past the guards—to our _door_.” He stomps into the room, ripping his shirt off and throwing it to the ground, and then unbuttons his jeans. “What do we pay these people for if they can’t even keep out one little woman? Could they possibly be more incompetent?” He shucks off his jeans, jerking on a pair of pajama pants, moving constantly as he verbalizes his anger. This is their _home_ , and even if she hadn’t gotten inside, she still got much, much too close.

“Myungsoo,” Sungyeol says, but Myungsoo barely even hears him.

“Can we sue them or something? Incompetence? False advertising? Don’t they advertise themselves as the best in the business? I could do a better job keeping this place safe.” He kicks his recently discarded clothes aside, wishing that he had a punching bag to take out some of this frustration on.

“Myungsoo.”

There’s something his voice this time that dries up Myungsoo’s anger, and he turns slowly to face his friend. Sungyeol is just looking at him, but there’s something in his eyes that Myungsoo doesn’t know how to read. 

“What?” he asks, a little breathless ( _and he hadn’t been ranting that long, so there’s no reason at all for him to be breathless like this. No reason at all_ ).

“Myungsoo,” Sungyeol repeats, starting to walk toward him ( _the way he moves now, deliberate instead of careless as usual, makes Myungsoo take a half step backwards without thinking about it_ ).

“You said that already,” Myungsoo notes, but his tone isn’t nearly as dry as he was aiming for it to be ( _his voice might break a little_ ).

“Myungsoo.” And then Sungyeol is right _there_ , and then he’s kissing him, again and again, and the kisses are short but so _raw_ that it’s almost more than Myungsoo can handle. “Myungsoo.” Sungyeol keeps saying his name over and over again between the kisses, and Myungsoo’s never heard his voice sound like this before ( _it makes him tremble_ ). Myungsoo twines his arms around Sungyeol’s neck, and Sungyeol’s hands are holding onto his hips a little too hard, and somehow this is more than anything they’ve shared before.

When Dongwoo opens the door a few minutes later, his face flushes scarlet and he hops back out quickly. “Sorry!” he squeaks, slamming the door closed again, and the interruption makes Myungsoo feel like he’s just been jarred out of sleep, forced back into the world before he’s ready. He blinks, trying to get a handle on a reality that isn’t Sungyeol’s mouth, and Sungyeol’s forehead falls against his shoulder. Myungsoo’s arms slide around his waist now, holding Sungyeol as close to him as possible as they both gasp and pant against each others’ necks. Finally Sungyeol pulls away, steadying himself as Myungsoo’s arms slip from around him. His cheeks are a little pink, too, but Myungsoo doesn’t know whether that’s because of the embarrassment or the kissing.

He holds Myungsoo’s eyes for a moment, and it’s so strange, how expressionless his face is—his face is _never_ like that. Sungyeol has never been great at eye contact, his gaze skittering away when it meets anyone’s for too long, but he doesn’t flinch away from Myungsoo’s now, holding it like he’s trying to tell him something so important. Myungsoo wonders what Sungyeol can see in his eyes ( _if they’re giving everything away like he suspects they are_ ); he still can’t read Sungyeol’s, can’t find any words for the emotions he sees there, and yet he shivers ( _and maybe he knows without knowing_ ).

Sungyeol finally turns away and darts out into the living room, calling for Dongwoo to come back. As though released from a spell, Myungsoo slumps against the bedstead, still shaking, and for the first time lets himself consider the possibility that Sungyeol might actually love him back.

 

 

The letters stop coming after that and Myungsoo stops looking for a trailing taxi in the rearview. Everyone starts to breathe easier, the safety rules are relaxed little by little, and though Myungsoo thinks it’s going to be a long, long time before he isn’t constantly alert in public, he starts feeling like he doesn’t have to watch Sungyeol’s back quite as fiercely as he did before ( _he can watch it in other ways now, and does_ ).

Sungyeol’s jokes start being about things that Myungsoo can laugh at, too, and there’s nothing better than that. He’d forgotten what it was like to laugh uncontrollably at Sungyeol’s antics, to just let go and let himself feel what Sungyeol makes him feel. It’s different than what they do in the bedroom on the rare occasions they’re alone, but it’s another way of loving Sungyeol, and Myungsoo is pretty sure that even if he’s not good at anything else ( _not acting or singing or dancing_ ), he’s good at that.

 

 

 

Myungsoo is with him when the polite detective shows up again ( _Myungsoo is with him whenever he can be, though he’s learning when he’s clinging a little too much, teaching himself to back off a bit when Sungyeol feels overwhelmed. It’s a compromise, and his mom always said that that’s what relationships are about, and besides: he thinks that Sungyeol doesn’t always want to cuddle as much as they do, but he does it anyway, for Myungsoo_ ). He looks a little bit more alert, a little less haggard, and he smiles when he rests his hip on the table and shares his news with Sungyeol.

“It seems that the man and woman we arrested were the backbone of everything,” he says. “They had some followers who sent some of the letters and chased in the taxis and gathered information on your whereabouts, but these two were the instigators. The whole thing will probably die out now that they’ve both been caught.”

Myungsoo had suspected as much, but hearing this man confirm it and seeing the look on Sungyeol’s face makes it seem real for the first time.

“They’ve both got trial dates now,” the detective continues, “and since they were both caught red-handed, they’ll almost certainly get jail time. And after that, there’s restraining orders, and we’ll make sure they’ve got some bite. You won’t have to testify in person after all—the judge agreed that affidavits are enough. “

Before he leaves, he warns them not to get _too_ lax, speaking mostly to Jungryoul, and saying that idols can never be too careful. But Myungsoo doesn’t hear much of it: he’s too busy looking at the half-dazed grin on Sungyeol’s face.

 

 

They have sex for the first time that night. They’re alone in the bedroom—Dongwoo had fallen asleep in Sunggyu and Woohyun’s room earlier and while Myungsoo suspects that it might have been on purpose, he doesn’t question it ( _he’s just thankful_ ). 

Sungyeol’s skin is so pale, and there’s so much of it: he’s so long and seems even more so without his clothes. He flushes and squirms when Myungsoo runs worshipful eyes and hands all over him, clearly not comfortable with being so bare, but Myungsoo is determined to make him forget his self-consciousness ( _he’s perfect, and Myungsoo wants him to_ know). Myungsoo doesn’t have a lot of experience at this ( _not that Sungyeol does, either_ ), but he’s wanted it for so long that he feels no shyness at all. Everything is Sungyeol and the smoothness of his skin and the scent of him and the sounds he makes ( _his whines and moans crack, just like his voice, and Myungsoo falls in love with him all over again_ ), and he’s everything Myungsoo ever wanted.

Sungyeol looks absolutely appalled when Myungsoo pulls out the lube, but Myungsoo’s mouth can be very persuasive ( _when it’s not talking—he’s not so good at that_ ), and Myungsoo is really, really careful ( _he’s done his reading. Okay, he may have done his reading years ago when he first figured out that the way he felt about Sungyeol was different than the way he felt about anyone else, and he might not have thought he’d ever have chance to use what he learned back then, but he’s done a refresher course recently to make sure—the last thing he wants to do is hurt Sungyeol_ ). Liquid and fingers and going as slow as he needs to: Myungsoo is going to make sure that Sungyeol never regrets this.

He knows it starts out awkward and painful for Sungyeol—though he seems to warm up to it as they go along, if the noises he makes are any indication, as Myungsoo figures out how and where to move—but it’s really, really good for Myungsoo ( _so good, so much that he feels like he could cry at any moment_ ), and he thinks that maybe he wouldn’t mind letting Sungyeol find out what it feels like ( _thinks maybe he wouldn’t mind being the one to let someone inside if that someone is Sungyeol_ ). 

But this is now, and Sungyeol is all around him, and that’s all Myungsoo knows. 

 

 

“Do you really think it’s over?” Sungyeol whispers after, his cheek resting on Myungsoo’s chest. Myungsoo has his fingers in Sungyeol’s hair again, and their legs are tangled underneath the sheets.

“Well, we’re idols, so it’s never _really_ over,” Myungsoo says, because he’s been realistic ( _pessimistic_ ) about this from the start. “But yeah. I think the worst is over.”

“I don’t think I remember how I used to feel, before,” Sungyeol says, and it’s one of the most vulnerable things Myungsoo has ever heard him say. They’re still not big on the talking about real things, he suspects they never will be, but they’ve learned they can do it when they need to. That’s enough. “I feel like I’ve been bracing myself for months now and my muscles don’t know how to relax anymore. I need to get a full-body massage or something from one of those little tiny women who can kill you with their pinkies and who make you feel like your brain is about to dribble out of your ears whenever they touch you.”

“I’ll give it to you,” Myungsoo volunteers, and he doesn’t have to see Sungyeol’s face to know he’s rolling his eyes. 

After a beat ( _during which Myungsoo buries his face in Sungyeol’s hair and breathes deeply_ ), Sungyeol speaks again. “I still don’t understand why, though.”

“They were crazy, Yeol, I mean really mentally insane. There’s never a why that makes sense with people like that.”

“Yeah.” Another pause. “I guess I’ll never know.”

“Does it matter anymore?” 

Sungyeol hesitates for a moment, then lifts his head to rest his chin on Myungsoo’s chest. His mouth isn’t smiling when his eyes meet Myungsoo’s, but his eyes are, brighter than ever. “I guess it really doesn’t.”

Myungsoo smiles back.


End file.
